Whiskey Hotel
by bobski-thepolishambassador
Summary: Pvt Jack Wilshire is in training just before the start of the events of Modern Warfare 2. The first chapter sees him in training, later his life is thrown completely off track as the events of Modern Warfare 2 kick in.
1. Rise and Shine

_**Camp: Unspecified  
>Location: Unknown<br>Date and Time: Winter**_

The rushing sound of boots.

"Wakey wakey! Rise and shine ladies! It is now two minutes to four on God's green earth!" Shouted the Staff Sergeant as he entered the barracks and flicked on the tacky lights. "You have now got, thirty seconds to get off your arses and ten more seconds to fall in outside!" He yelled looking at his watch, then he turned to the Corporal nodding, "You know what to do now."

"Yes sir!" Was the response the sergeant wanted to hear, and it was exactly what he got, he grinned with malice at me as he turned to leave. He always got his way, the Corporal did not like him, neither did the rest of us, but he would not stand up to him, even when the sarge went too far. He just couldn't.

It was barely above freezing outside and the sun was only just beginning to climb over the horizon. All the men around me were trained soldiers and were now training to be the best, the elite of the Army. That did not however stop us grumbling about being woken up early and thrown out into the cold only half dressed at best. We were all in our exercise gear or near enough to completely in it and we knew what to expect next.

"Right, you sorry lot!"Screamed the Corporal, "The Sergeant heard your whining inside as he walked away, he will be watching you now, God have mercy on you if he doesn't like what he sees!" He then turned to the end of the line before continuing, "Morning Run around the camp! Carry out!" None of us minded the Corporal, we all knew what he was really like. It was just his job after all, to shout at us and he had to follow what the Sergeant ordered or we would all be worse off. The long line of potential Special Forces men stretched out over a hundred yards or so as we began the run, because some of us were more awake than others. I was towards the front of this line as per usual, being a marathon runner back at high school had it's uses after all, I had found after signing up for the Armed Forces.

My name is Jack Wilshire, my mother was born in the States and my father was born in Britain, but moved here. So naturally I love the States and am ready to die for my country. I earned the nickname "goggles" when I first joined the army a few years back, and after sniper school I requested the opportunity to join the Special Forces and now I'm in a training camp, somewhere in the Middle East. I can't be certain where though, the army only tells you what it thinks you need to know, nothing more, nothing less. My fiancé's waiting for me back in Washington D.C and we hope to get married when I rotate home after training.

As we turned the corner round the lunch hall some other potential recruits walked out, swinging both the door into those up ahead of me and walking headlong into the people running right in front of me. It didn't look good, about eight guys were all lying tangled up and at any moment we might see the furious Sergeant running towards us or some other NCO. The door swung open again, as the other men came out too. They saw what was going on and tried to get stuck in as well, it was chaos as both sides piled in. Punches were thrown by both sides and at least one man had his jaw cracked, I didn't know him, so I didn't care much about him. I was more concerned for my own well being and for that of my friend's. It would have been comical to watch, everyone involved knew a wide range of close combat, unarmed combat and martial arts, but all of these were forgotten and thrown out of the window as we got stuck in. I had just ducked beneath one swing, knocked back another and was about to swing myself when, the Corporal came running from around the corner. We all froze and turned to see him steaming, he took another pace forward raising his finger and opening his mouth, but his foot caught on one of the men lying unconscious and he landed in the sand on his face.

Some cautious snorts went round as everyone picked themselves up and brushed themselves down. The snorts escalated into chuckles until even the Corporal was laughing his head off too. At least this NCO had a sense of humour.

"Right, enough comedy for one morning, finish the run before the Sergeant has your guts for garters! The rest of you clear off, and someone move this lump." He said, kicking the body he had tripped on, then stormed off to clean himself.

We had got off lightly there, we all knew it. The rest of the run was completed in silence and without incident. We got back to our barracks covered in sweat and wheezing for breath. We sounded more like old men, than young men in their prime. The Sergeant was waiting for us when we got back with a knowing smile on his face.

"Today ladies," he began, "We go on the range."

We all let out a sigh of relief. The rest of the day would be a breeze.

But why was he smiling?


	2. Aiming True

We were standing outside the armoury talking amongst ourselves, whilst we waited for it to open when the Corporal approached us.

"Lads!" he called to get everyone's attention. "There's something you should know about today's range drill-" at that moment he caught the Sergeant racing towards them as quickly as he could march, so he broke off and instead whispered barely audibly "Good luck." before yelling so that the Sergeant could hear him, "Get back into your line and face your fronts!"

He saluted the Sergeant before walking off, casting a look of worry over his shoulder which most of us noticed, but the Sergeant seemed oblivious to anything happening behind him. The Sergeant was swinging the keys by his finger. He stopped suddenly and threw them. The keys clattered off the helmet I was wearing and hit the floor, they left a ringing sound in my ears. I looked up from the keys, and the Sergeant was in my face.

"Are you trying to insult me with your stupidity?" he swore under his breath as he screamed in my face. I stood at attention and took everything he threw at me, we had been through this countless times and to be honest he was boring me. That is when I made the mistake of expressing myself.

The yawn told him everything.

"Am I boring you Pvt Wilshire?"

"Pvt Limey, you will answer me." he was almost whispering, though his voice was shaking as if to tell me he was dangerous.

I didn't dare answer, at this point I knew that whatever I said would be the wrong answer. I went to the one place he couldn't touch me; home with my fiancé. I imagined our house in Washington D.C, the family we would one day raise and how my life would soon change for the better. I blocked out the torrent of abuse streaming my way from the Sergeant; I could see him turning slowly red and the spittle issuing from his mouth disgusted me, but I would not be taken away from her. It was like watching a silent film, it almost amused me, but I was careful to hide my emotions this second time.

After what seemed like an eternity the Sergeant's face returned to it's normal colour and he ceased to rain abuse down upon me. This time he turned to everyone and shouted, "You will all collect your rifles and run double time to the range! Or so help me God I will tear you a new arsehole with my boot!"

We got the message quickly and I didn't waste time in picking the keys out of the sand and throwing them to the man at the front of the line.

It was only a few minutes before we were all running the the direction of the range. I could not speak for the others, but I was thinking only about what the Corporal had let slip earlier. Good luck? We were only going on the range. Or were we? I thought to myself.

As we came up to the range we could see nothing; men let out sighs, so I knew I wasn't the only one who had been worrying all the way up. I let my weapon rest on it's butt, leaning against me, so I was free to put my hands on my head and catch my breath. The heat took a lot out of us.

"Get into one straight line you sorry lot, so that you can all see and hear me." said the Sergeant. He looked up and down the line, before smiling to himself and continuing, "You will be spending the rest of that day on the range. No breaks allowed. If you need to piss or shit, do it quietly and without drawing attention to yourself, though the smell will probably give you away." he laughed at what he had just said, but when no one joined in, his expression hardened into one of loathing and he carried on, "You will split into two groups to go onto the range. The first group will stay here with me, behind these sandbags. The other will go onto the range and begin to fire at their targets in the usual routine of crossing the ridge, firing, changing position, firing again and returning back over that same ridge."

There was a silence as the Sergeant stopped speaking abruptly.

"Any questions?" he asked.

I looked around, but no one else seemed to be as distressed as me. So I raised my hand, full well knowing I would be ridiculed once again.

"Pvt Limey, I was asking out of common courtesy. I did not expect you to actually declare your stupidity once again by this time raising your hand. What is it any way?" snapped the Sergeant.

"Why does the first group have to stay behind the sand bags, with you? Surely no one could possibly mistake the direction they're supposed to shoot on the range?" I asked.

Some sniggers went round, I wished they didn't. I was actually asking seriously now, I really wanted to know. The Sergeant's lip curled up in a cruel manner, before he spoke.

"I'm actually glad you asked Pvt Limey, because it's something I forgot to mention and something you should know. Out among the targets I have personally placed thirty-five Arabic tribesmen armed with AK-47s. They will be firing back at you, I told them to aim high, but who knows what might happen in the heat of combat." he chuckled. The man was actually grinning whilst describing the possibility of our deaths in his care.

I shouldn't have really been surprised to be honest, this was the Staff Sergeant Finley Hecklestein who had shot a man in his command for pissing into his foxhole by accident, then blaming it on the man; saying he had snuck up behind him. This was also the Sergeant who had spent the last twenty years helping to train Special Forces from around the world, so we slugged it out.

"You are not to fire at these tribesmen, their aim is sure to be piss poor anyway. Aim for your targets only! The point of this exercise, before some smart arse asks," he said looking directly at me, "Is to see how you cope with being under fire."

He let his instructions sink in, then added, "First ten men move forwards. Carry on."

I sighed and picked up my weapon, the training M16, I would rather have an AK any day, I thought to myself. We had just gotten to the top of the metre high ridge before the firing range when the first rounds went past us. As one we immediately dived headlong forwards in an attempt to get out of the sights of our assailants. Most of us hit the floor fine, thought there were a few curses as men landed on particularly sharp stones or the such.

Then there was a shudder as the earth shook and a man cried out in pain. He'd been hit in the shoulder and so had dropped his weapon too, his nerves must have been shredded as he couldn't move as he lay there in a growing pool of his own crimson blood.

"Jefferson, help him. Press down on his wound and don't let him bleed out. Administer first aid if you can and drag him back over the ridge if you can't." I said to him in as calm a voice as I could muster. Then I turned my head to the others and said, "Well, we'll have to finish without them then. The sarge won't let us stop so soon." The other men nodded to me and we carried on.

I crawled in the direction of my usual post, range number seven, my favourite number. I now had two targets to aim at, then I had to dash four yards to my right to range number seven-position two, from there I had to hit three more targets, before running out of there with all haste.

I slowed my breathing to get it back under control so that I could do my business properly and get out of this hell hole. Shots were ringing out all around me by now, far more were headed towards the eight of us remaining in action, which seemed ironic as we were the ones using the range. Another cry rose, this time from my left, I was too far to help the man, so I carried on searching for my targets down range.

I finally spotted my first target and easily shot it down, I quickly found the second and did the same again. Now it was time to move to my secondary position. I scoured the horizon for any signs of the tribesmen but could spot nothing; I shook my head with wonder at their talents, no wonder they were once known as the ghosts of the desert.

I decided to count to three before scrabbling up and moving the precious few yards to enable me to finish the exercise.

"One." I tried to gain control of my breathing again.

"Two." I tried imagining what my fiancé was doing at this moment in time.

"Three!" I jumped up as quickly as I could. Something hit me in the left arm and I span around and fell into the spot I was about to jump to. What a wonderful bit of luck, I thought to myself, until I looked at my left arm.

"Shit." I said, it was all I could muster. The entire arm was already drenched in blood. I could still move the arm, so no bones were broken. I assumed it was a flesh wound. I would be fine to continue.

I found my first two targets with ease, but the third escaped my notice for some time. I looked up and down and all over for it. Nothing. The minutes slowly ticked by, but the rate of fire by both sides didn't subside. A man further to my right stood up and ran back over the ridge we had first come over, he had finished it seemed. Another man to my left stood up and did the same. Then another and another. I began to panic, I could not be the last one. I would not.

A few more minutes passed and I was the last one, the firing had subsided almost completely as I had not fired in a while and so the tribesmen did not know where I was. Then I saw it, a brown stain on the golden sand, my final target. It was partially buried, I growled furiously and lined up the iron sights to quickly dispense with it, but then something crossed my vision and the target was obscured. I cursed and blinking had a look to see what it was. It was a tribesmen. Of all the places he could stand I thought. I wondered what would happen if I did happen to shoot one of the tribesmen, but quickly decided against it. My fiancé would never forgive me if I did, she was a total pacifist, but I let her get her way, she just meant that much to me.

I couldn't waste any more time however so estimated where the target was, guessed which parts of the man's silhouette were cloth and which flesh, lined up my sights and fired. Then I ran as quickly as my legs could take me without waiting to see the effect of my efforts. The shots came quickly and chased me over the ridge, I dived over the edge of the ridge to escape them and ended up sprawled on the floor in front of the Sergeant.

"Nice of you to join us Pvt Limey." he simply said in acknowledgement.

"That's quite enough Staff Sergeant." butted in another voice.

I stood up and dusted myself down; looking up to see who it was and found myself looking into the eyes of a Lieutenant General.

A simple "Oh." escaped me.


	3. Surprises all Round

"Is it not customary to salute your superiors?" asked the General with a warm smile on his face.

This was the General Shepherd, the man who had lost thirty-thousand marines in the blink of an eye. This was the man I was speaking to.

"I know what you're thinking son. I lost many good men that day, but through no fault of my own. I take care of my own." his expression had hardened, but only ever so slightly.

"Yes sir!" I snapped to my senses and saluted him crisply.

"Good. I'd like a chat with you now Pvt Wilshire. Staff Sergeant Hecklestein debrief these men immediately so that I can take Pvt Wilshire with me."

I grew uncomfortable at all the attention being focused on me. I'm sure I was blushing, but in this blistering heat it was impossible to tell; we were all red, because of the heat from the sun and that which was radiating from the sand.

"Pvt Jackson was hit in the shoulder as soon as he crested the ridge, the lot of you were meandering about like a herd of gazelle. All intelligence you get is bound to be shitty, why did you believe me when I said the tribesmen's aim would be piss poor?" no one dared to meet the Sergeant's eye's, he was right, as usual. "Never mind, that is the least of your worries at the moment. Pvt Wilshire, a good use of initiative in telling Pvt Jefferson to get him out of there quick, and well done to Pvt Jefferson for returning to the exercise, though he too was later wounded." I looked around and could not see Jefferson, nor could I see Jackson, who had been the first hit. Of the ten men who had gone out onto the range, there were eight left standing, of those, three were walking wounded including me. I wondered why the Sergeant was being so nice to us, but I presumed it was due to the General's being here and wanting to see me. I was prevented only from thinking about what the General wanted with the strange behaviour from the Sergeant.

The Sergeant was continuing though, so I tuned in again. "Out of the eight of you who were not incapacitated three of you received flesh wounds I can see, those can be attended to you later. Only Pvt Wilshire here managed to eliminate all of his targets, the rest of you gave up and just came running back. Never in all my life have I seen anything so bloody ridiculous. I can't understand why you couldn't stick it out like Pvt Wilshire here. His final shot took for longer than anyothe-" he stopped as one of the tribesmen came over the ridge and jogged straight up to him, his AK still slung around his neck. The man whispered into his ear something in Arabic, the Sergeant seemed to understand, but it sounded like hissing to the rest of us. The Sergeant nodded and dismissed the man who ran back over the dunes.

"Pvt Wilshire, did you shoot one of the tribesmen?"growled the Sergeant.

The General looked at me as I went to answer.

Everyone else seemed to be holding their breath too.

"Sergeant, I fired at the silhouette stood in front of my final target, which was buried in the sand in the first place. If I wounded the man in any way I will take full responsibility." was the best I could muster.

"Damn right you will!"shouted the Sergeant, but what he said next chilled my blood. "And what will you do if you've killed him?" The Sergeant stared me down, but his eyes betrayed nothing.

My throat refused to gulp, it was too dry from fear, I'd killed men before, but not like this; the General frowned.

The Sergeant simply pointed behind me.

We all turned slowly as one.

Standing on the ridge behind us was a man in a ragged cloak. He threw off the cloak and yelled at us, "That was a bloody close shot mate. A bloody good one too." he said winking at me. The man was British.

At this point General Shepherd joined the conversation, "Allow me to introduce you to Archer and Ozone." he paused and allowed a second man to climb onto the ridge, from his greeting we could tell he was Canadian. Then the General continued, "They are under my command in what is known as Task Force 141. During the exercise they helped direct the Arabic tribesmen and they were the only ones who actually hit you, so I want no hard feelings towards the Arabs, understood?"

"Yes sir!" we all answered.

"Good, now the debriefing's over, come with me Pvt Wilshire." said the General

I walked by the General's side and we wondered over a few dunes before he spoke.

"Son, do you love your country?"

"Yes sir!" I answered

"Are you willing to die for your country?" he continued quickly.

"Yes sir!" I answered again without thinking.

"Would you be willing to join Task Force 141?"

I stopped walking to take it in.

"Well?" asked the General

"Yes sir! Of course!" was my answer, I don't know why I thought about it.

"The mission we would send you on is more than likely to end in your death, could you handle that knowledge or is there anything holding you back?" was the General's final question, I could tell by his change of tone.

"Sir, I have a fiancée. I'd have to get back to you on it."

The General frowned, "A fiancée you say? That didn't show up on any of our background checks. In which case I can tell you, you will die on this mission and I won't be the cause of that." the General seemed to grow angry. "It seems I have wasted your time Pvt Wilshire, good luck with your military career." he said, smiling once more.

"Sir." I simply answered, stunned.

The General walked off, pulling out a notepad with names on it; he crossed off the top name then breathed, "Pvt Joseph Allen." before sighing and walking away.

I shook my head.

I could make neither head nor tail of it.


	4. A Simple Call Home

A few weeks had passed since the General's visit, his being here was soon forgotten as our training progressed.

"Pvt Bullshit, get over here now!" yelled the Sergeant.

Staff Sergeant Finley Hecklestein still hadn't gotten over the fact that the General had wanted to speak to me rather than him over the opportunity to join Task Force 141, then he hated me even more, because I did not take it in the end. A "wasted opportunity" he called it. I'd reflected for a few hours each night before bed over it, but each time I came to the conclusion that it was for the best.

I ran over to the Sergeant as I was told, it was best just to follow his orders without question. He was a tough bastard, but without a shadow of a doubt, he was getting us trained.

"Pvt Wil-shite, did you deliberately miss mess duty this morning or did it just slip your mind?" he asked, with loathing in his eyes.

"No Sergeant, Pvt Gwizdek covered for me so that I could make my weekly call home, to my fiancée that is." as I said this I knew that I had been well within my rights to do so, but I also knew that the Sergeant would find some major fault in what I had done and punish me for it.

"You were not authorised to do so! You did not ask any NCO or Officer, did you?" the Sergeant knew he had me there, as did I.

"No Sergeant, I did not." a sigh escaped me as we both knew it was over, I looked up at him and stared into his eyes, daring him to give me my punishment.

He obliged me, "You will go on a patrol with Pvt Gwizdek and," he looked at his own notepad and continued, "Take Pvts O'Hara and Sanders, they've pissed me off enough this week."

He looked at me and I simply looked back.

"Why are you still here?" he asked slowly.

I didn't wait to answer and went to find the other three unlucky Privates. I jogged into the barracks, but inside was only the Corporal.

"Corp, where is everyone?" I asked.

"Please sit down Pvt Wilshire?" was his reply.

"Corp?"

"Sit!" he was getting agitated so I listened to him.

"Everyone has been called to the briefing room and the entire base is being called to alert-" the sirens going off interrupted him, we listened to them for a few seconds before he continued, "We received news moments ago that...the Russians have invaded home."

I looked at the Corporal blankly, "But that's not possible!" Even as I spluttered my protests I knew that it was true, the Corporal would never lie about something like this; Corporal Mike Christmas was the closest thing we had to a father on the base, he looked out for us where the Sergeant beat us.

He nodded and I finally asked, "How and where?"

"It seems they captured some of our codes and used them to tamper with NORAD to enable them to launch attacks on the East Coast. Washington's been taken along with most major cities that side of the States." he said.

"But why is this happening?" I was almost shouting, my thoughts flew to my fiancée Patricia, Patricia Conners. Our apartment was in Washington.

"Remember that Russian airport massacre?"

"What, Moscow's Zakhaev International Airport? What's that got to do with anything?" I asked.

"Jack, the whole world still blames us for it!"

"Surely not, they must know it's a set up! Not even our Government would be stupid enough to do something like that, there's no motive!" I yelled, desperately trying to believe my own words and believing I could convince others too, but it was far too late.

The Corporal didn't say anything, he just let me take it all in. My fiancée, Patricia, what had happened to her? But I had spoken to her hours ago, it all seemed incredulous.

"So what happens now, Corp?" I asked, a tingling sensation went up my spine as I waited for his answer.

"Now, we're going home." he said with a sense of finality.

We both nodded and left the barrack to join everyone else in the briefing room.

We sat down on one of the few remaining chairs and waited. The room was crowded almost to overfilling with many men having to stand on the periphery, but the tension in the air could be cut with a knife.

Finally Major McCullen, Commanding Officer of all American troops in the area, came onto the stage and any whispers ceased till the room was deathly silent. He began slowly, obviously exhausted, "Gentlemen, moments ago we received word that America has been attacked, we have lost communication with much of the East Coast."

No one said a word in response and so he continued, "From the last reports we know that Colonel Marshall is in action in D.C itself, resistance has not completely fallen. At this moment in time however we can not be sure of anything. One thing we can be sure of is that we are war. Do not take this lightly, this will be a war on a scale the world has never seen."

He stepped down from the stage and Lieutenant Jacobs took his place, "There are two Israeli C-130s waiting for us in the desert, all your equipment should be on board, we leave now."

Everyone started getting up.

"Good luck to you all." The Lieutenant said finishing off.

"You too sir!" called back whoever had heard.

This was it then.


	5. Flight From Hell

**Location: Somewhere over the Atlantic  
><strong>**Date and Time: Spring**

Everyone in the aircraft was silent, no one wanted to be the first to say anything. The Israeli aircrew were only able to speak broken English, so they kept themselves to themselves. They knew what we were going through and had no way to comfort us. We didn't need their comfort in any case, everyone seemed calm, though I was sure everyone was strangling or mutilating what they imagined a Russian to look like in their minds. My thoughts were only directed to my fiancée. I thought about our last phone call, I had tried calling her number again when we had stopped to refuel in Portugal before crossing the Atlantic, but to no avail. Her phone was dead and the house phone kept ringing. I was tearing my hair out in panic and wonder as I ran through scenarios in my head as to what had happened.

Had she been killed in a bombing raid? Quite likely.

Had she been captured? Why would they do that? Not likely I thought.

If she was dead, had she gone down fighting? Impossible I told myself, she was extremely stubborn, she'd be a pacifist till the end.

Had they violated her? My heart froze at the thought; I imagined her terrified hazel eyes searching for me in the darkness, but I was nowhere to comfort or save her.

I had to hit myself on the forehead to get the terrible images out of my head, the men around me broke out of their trances to see what was going on and after I few asked if I was all right I sat back and rested against the C-130's fuselage, shivering in my own sweat.

The Corporal came down the aisle to see how I was.

"What's wrong?"he asked, sounding genuinely concerned.

"I was just thinking about my fiancée, in Washington." I answered.

He nodded in acknowledgement and placed a hand on my shoulder. "You will see her again." he said before walking further down the plane in the direction of the cockpit. Just going over the one line which he'd said to me made me want to believe. "You will see her again", the words were echoing in my mind and I grew to believe them more as time went on. Patricia was not dead, she was not even hurt, I would see her again.

I promised myself we would be together again.

With this new found strength I sat through the rest of the flight gritting my teeth and prayed to God for the first time in what seemed years. I wasn't sure what to do, the man across from me looked deep in prayer so I tried to mirror him; I cupped my hands together; bowed my head and spoke to whom I imagined was God.

"Dear Lord," I paused, thinking how ridiculous it seemed, but pressed on, "I know that I've been out of contact for a bit, eleven years, but that's not the issue now. I just wanted to ask a small favour of you actually, if you find time to do it, could you look after my fiancée Patricia Conners, just until I find her please. I'll take over from then on. You'll know who she is, she's the good Catholic girl who goes to mass every Sunday." I laughed to myself before crossing myself and sitting down again. I felt immensely tired and closed my eyes to rest them for a bit.

It felt like I was only just being woken again, but suddenly we were going through massive turbulence. The lights went off and emergency red ones turned on. Announcements and alarms blared but all in Hebrew. It was of no use to us. No one seemed to panic, most men were trying to keep their stomachs steady, I didn't blame them, it felt like we were taking a huge plunge.

It was after about a minute that I realised we weren't pulling up again, at this point I started to panic. Then the Corporal came running out of the cockpit and screamed down the plane, "Lads! Hold onto anything that you can, it's going to be a rough landing!"

"Corp, we going to crash then?" someone yelled back.

A few chuckles rang round and the Corporal answered, "The pilots prefer to call it a rough landing if I'm honest with you."

More laughter. So this is how it was to end, the whole lot of us laughing our heads off as our plane went down with no power.

The Lord must have heard me and been angry.

So be it, I thought.

We seemed to pick up speed and suddenly there were two massive wrenches, "Those would be our wings going!" yelled the Corporal. How comforting, I thought.

We must have been closer to the ground than I had thought, because suddenly the bottom of the plane scrapped something, then hit what I presumed to be the ground and the plane seemed to disintegrate around me.

Men screamed terrified and the Corporal standing tall was bowled over by a piece of debris. Droplets of blood filled the air as men were shredded, others were tossed around like rag dolls; all were at the mercy of fate or God or whatever each man believed in. I sat frozen in my seat until I smacked my head on the fuselage behind me, everything span in slow motion and the floor beckoned me, so I obliged it and lay down closing my eyes.


	6. A Second Chance

I felt a tapping on my helmet.

I blinked a few times until my sight was restored; night was falling fast, but the burning of the fires of the plane's wreckage would not die out for a long time yet.

I started to pick myself up, and was presented with a hand to help me up. I took the hand gratefully and hauled myself up. I picked up my rifle which had survived the apparent plane crash too, but I was given no respite. Whoever had picked me up now grabbed me by my arm and dragged me away from the crash. My mind was still a little scrambled, but it didn't stop me from feeling undignified.

"All right, thank you! Whoever you are, I can handle it from here." I told my saviour.

"You just dropped out of the sky, what the hell do you know about what's going on here?" growled a female voice. My vision started to clear and I found that my saviour was a female Corporal.

"My unit was flying from the Middle East to support Washington. Speaking of which, where exactly are we?" I asked, I looked around for the first time. The plane's debris was everywhere, spread over hundreds of metres, no one else seemed to have survived it though. That was how war was, I'd been through it all before. Some made it, some didn't. I had never yet been through anything like this though. The Corporal did not answer my question, instead I felt faint and she saw this so grabbed hold of my shoulder again, before forcing me out of the light into the darkness of the side road.

"What the-" I began, before she cut me off.

"Shut up and watch!" she snapped.

We didn't move, just watched and listened, within half a minute once my eyes had, had some time to adjust I could see silhouettes. These grew in size and number, till hundreds of men were swarming over the wreckage of the plane. The combination of devilish men, flames and carnage made the scene hellish, it reminded me of my Sunday school days, where we were taught about Hell. I felt like I was witnessing it.

"Russians." whispered the Corporal, taking care to lower the barrel of my rifle. I had not even noticed that I had raised it to them, instinct had kicked in correctly.

A few shots rang out from the Russians, they seemed jumpy; firing at anything that made a sound or seemed to move. I could understand how they felt, so far away from home, in a strange land, but I did not sympathise with them, at this moment I loathed them. Excited shouts rang out from further down the road. Both the Corporal and I turned our heads in that direction. What I saw almost caused me to shout out, but the Corporal clamped a powerful hand over my mouth and knocked me to the floor. She sat astride of me, to keep me pinned down, being careful to keep her hand over my mouth so I could not cry out.

"Don't get any funny ideas into your head." she said.

I have a fiancée, sang the voice in my head. I turned around beneath her so I could look back onto the crash site. The Russians had managed to find two survivors. How could we have missed them, I thought.

They were moved into the light and forced to kneel, finally their faces were revealed. The first looked like one of the Israeli aircrew. When I saw the second one's face, my heart froze. It was my Corporal, but his face was cut, swollen and bleeding. Most likely from being hit by a piece of debris.

The Russians quietened down and an Officer in a different uniform approached the two kneeling men.

"Spetznaz." whispered the female Corporal in my ear.

The Officer stood before the two of them, before speaking to the Israeli pilot. The pilot shook his head at what he was told and seemed to be trying to protest his innocence. When the Officer reached for his side arm, both kneeling men sprung into action. The Israeli, using an obscure form of Krav Maga, managed to switch places with the man holding him down and break his arm in the process. The Corporal likewise, switched places with the man and drew a knife from his boot which he pinned to the struggling Russian's throat.

Nobody moved or said anything and time started to slip by, the countless Russians had all raised their rifles the moment something had happened and had not lowered them since. All at once, the Spetznaz Officer seemed to grow tired of the stand off and simply shouted in English to his men, so the two escapees could understand, "Cut them all down!"

The sheer amount of metal which tore through the four men was simply astounding, the two Russian hostages were reduced to stained rags, the Israeli was also killed outright, but the Corporal somehow survived, though seemingly paralysed.

The Officer walked up to him and said, "Goodnight." Before plugging a round into the man's head.

Something inside of me died at this point, the sheer feeling of helplessness tore away inside of me and I struggled against my new Corporal, but she held me down. It was not till the Russians had moved on, over five minutes later that she let me up. I was only allowed a brief glimpse at Corporal Mike Christmas' body, before I was dragged off again.

"You were saved by some higher fate. You have a second chance to deliver a blow to the Russians, don't fuck up, or I'll save them the bother and kill you myself." she said.

We carried on jogging, but I wasn't sure whether to take her seriously or not, so simply answered, "Yes corp!"

"That's Corporal to you." she snapped again.

Yup, she was serious, I realised.


	7. Not Quite A Walk In The Park

We didn't let up the pace for a few minutes, then we turned one corner after another until we ran into a squad of soldiers. Everyone snapped up their rifles, but no one fired. It was too dark for either party to tell whether the other was friend, or foe. No one moved. No one spoke.

"Don't lower your weapon Private. What ever you do, just don't do that." the Corporal whispered, "Oh, and try not to shoot me, if you do feel the urge to fire."

Her patronising tone did not escape me, and I did not appreciate it. Someone else seemed to recognise it though.

"Corporal Mason? Is that you?" said one of the men.

"Yes, who's that?" she said, not recognising the man's voice.

She did not yet lower her rifle. Following her lead, neither did I.

"It's Sergeant Peters, lower your rifles, all of you!" he called out clearly.

The commanding voice had the same effect on everyone, all firearms were lowered in an instant. The Corporal greeted her Sergeant, before turning to me.

"And who would this be, Corporal?" asked the Sergeant turning towards her, then looking back at me.

"I'm not quite sure Sergeant. He sort of dropped out of the sky. That glow in the distance sir, that would be his flight, a C-130. It crashed a few minutes ago, and he's all that's left." she reported quite accurately.

"Sergeant if I may?" I interjected, being careful to use his full rank in case he was like his Corporal.

"Go on." he said.

"I'm Private Jack Wilshire. I was at a Special Forces training camp in the Middle East up till about twenty-four hours ago, when we heard the news. Our camp was immediately packed onto two Israeli C-130s and we made our way here. My plane was downed not long ago and everyone was killed either by the crash or by the Russians, everyone except me. I don't know where the second plane is. I also have an apartment in Washington, my girlfriend's there now. Do you know where we are now?" I asked them.

None of them seemed to want to meet my gaze. They all looked away, even the Sergeant. It was the Corporal who broke the news to me, "This is Washington, we're just over half of a kilometre from the Whiskey Hotel. The Russians took it earlier today."she said.

I looked at her blankly, then asked, "The White House? But that's not possible!"

She shook her head and said, "And we think we know why your plane was downed. An EMP was set off at about the same time. It downed everything in the area that was electronic; both sides have been dodging falling planes and helicopters for the past few minutes."

Then the Sergeant spoke again, "We got word about a different C-130 coming down, also not far from here. I was told they only found five survivors from that one."

From two aeroplanes filled to the brim with nearly two-hundred men training for the Special Forces, only six had survived. Five of which were in an unknown state.

My jaw dropped. I looked around, but Washington's on fire, was my initial thought. We had just crashed into Washington, was my second. I was standing less than a hundred metres from my apartment, was my third; I suddenly recognised the road signs. I turned in the direction of my apartment and started to walk to it. It wasn't possible that it had been destroyed. This wasn't happening, not to me, Patricia would be there to greet me.

I knew at the same time that I was being delusional and that she was more than likely dead already.

I didn't care, I ignored the shouts of the Sergeant and the Corporal. I started running, my breath coming in gasps as I breathed in the smoke by mistake. I crossed the road and carried on running. It wasn't far now. When I got to where I was headed, I stopped so suddenly that one of the other Privates that was chasing me, ran into my back and bounced back off.

My apartment was gone, replaced instead with rubble.

No one lived here.

Not any more.

I had no more time to think about it though, because a group of Russians further down the road, had heard the calls for me to come back, to the other Americans I had run into. I dropped to one knee immediately in order to give myself the best shot. My electronic sight wasn't working. It mattered not, I knew more or less where the shot would fall.

I gently pulled the trigger back once, after making sure I had switched my weapon to semi-automatic fire. One of the Russians dropped clutching his stomach. They were still nearly a hundred metres away and had no clear shot on me. They had no choice, but to keep coming, two of them dropped back to help the man I had hit.

I lined up my second shot to hit the front runner in the shoulder. I squeezed the trigger and pierced his throat, those immediately behind him tripped over his fallen body and seemed reluctant to come any closer. By now Corporal Mason, Sergeant Peters and the rest of the men had joined me and began to pour fire into the concentration of Russians, more of them fell. Their resolve broke and they fled, leaving their wounded behind.

Everyone else ceased firing, but I continued, until the Corporal tapped me on the shoulder and screamed into my ear, "Cease firing your fucking weapon! They're all gone!"

I had known they were gone, but I had fired after them in any case. I wanted them all dead. They had taken sweet innocent Patricia from me, and now they would pay.

I thought back to the day where I had to leave for my flight to the Middle East. Patricia had held me tight with tears streaming down her cheek, telling me to keep safe and get back soon. She had pressed her lips against mine before telling me not to miss my own wedding. She then waved me off from the airport. The last I had seen of her, was the swishing of her long brown hair and the movement of her hips as she had left to go home. Her hazel eyes bore into my mind.

The Corporal snapped me out of it. "Come on! We have to get out of here and back to Colonel Marshall! We're overdue for the assault on the Whiskey Hotel by nearly twenty minutes as it is." she said slapping me hard.

It had the desired effect on me and I came back to Earth. "Yes of course." I said.

We started running in the direction of the Whiskey Hotel. A sense of emergency in the air.

We were going to take it back.

Or die trying.


	8. A Familiar Face

I followed Sergeant Peters, with Corporal Mason walking beside me. The route we were to take was not that long, but as it was dark, we made progress slowly. Every few seconds we would have to pause, just in case the Russians had heard us and were waiting to spring a trap. The last pause had lasted nearly four minutes as the Sergeant strained to make out shapes ahead of us; it had only ended when one of the other Privates had, had a coughing fit, and when the shapes ahead had not reacted we supposed that they were nothing.

But they were not nothing. They were corpses. Civilian corpses intermingled with American and Russian soldiers, no one had been spared. Children lay dead, with their parents beside them, or had been covered by their parents in a vain effort to protect them from the bullets, but to no avail.

We carried on regardless and soon ran into someone known to the Sergeant and Corporal.

"Private Vaughan! Where are you headed? What's happened?" asked the Sergeant, his voice cracking, he had been under immense stress and pressure and now his voice was giving way as a result.

"Sergeant Peters! Thank goodness that I've found you!" shouted the excitable young Private, "Colonel Marshall has had to delay the attack by an hour, as he did not deem that he had sufficient forces to carry the attack forwards and hold the objective. You have another fifteen minutes to get to the starting positions. The Colonel needs every man he can get, he'll be glad to have you, and your oddly dressed friend here." he said looking at me.

It only just dawned on me now that I was still in my desert camouflage gear. I had not had any time to get changed into anything else. So far in the bad light and with so much going on, no one had noticed. Apart from what I was wearing, my weapon was also slightly different custom modified, as was my helmet and I carried extra ammunition and some specialist equipment. They all looked at me curiously, Special Forces men always got the best.I had been jealous too, before I had joined them, then I had been grateful, as I was now.

"Good, well we'll be sure to tell the Colonel we ran into you. I take it he sent you out as his runner then?" asked the Sergeant.

"Yes Sergeant! I've got to be off now, look here come some more! You'd better get going!" called Private Vaughan as he ran on.

After that we managed to get to Colonel Marshall without too much bother. The Sergeant led us right up to the Colonel, who was surveying the White House. Our target.

"Colonel Marshall!" called the Sergeant in greeting, saluting as he came up to him.

"Thank God you're here Sergeant. I need every man I can get. Good to see you too Corporal. I need your squad at the forefront of this all Sergeant. Give the bastards hell! Can you do that for me?" he asked.

"Yes sir!" replied the Sergeant proudly.

Then the Colonel noticed me and my out of place uniform.

"And you would be?" he asked.

I took a pace forward, before saluting and said, "Private Jack Wilshire, sir. I was at a Special Forces training camp in the Middle East until we heard what happened. The camp was loaded onto two Israeli C-130s and flown here. Mine was downed and I was the only survivor, I heard the second was downed too, with five survivors left." Then looking deeply into his eyes I added, "My apartment was destroyed sir, and my fiancée with it. I will have my revenge on the Russian bastards tonight sir! With your permission."

"But of course." he answered, before continuing, "Of the five other men who survived the second crash, two died of their injuries only moments ago, two more are in intensive care and the final one, a Sergeant is waiting in the assembly area. You should join him, unless you would prefer to stick to Sergeant Peter's squad?"

"A Sergeant you said, sir?" I asked, my hands shaking visibly, I started to feel weak at the knees. Surely not, of all the men on the plane, the Sergeant could not have survived without the scratch, how was this possible, numerous thoughts raced through my head and my vision blurred.

The Corporal caught me and asked if I was all right, she was being strangely nice, but I put it down as an act for the Colonel's benefit. I waved her off saying it was just the after shock from the plane crash, she looked at me doubtfully, but shrugged her shoulders and left me in peace.

"I'll stay with this squad sir, if that's all right with you Sergeant?"

The Sergeant had no qualms about me staying on, claiming it would be beneficial to the squad to have a Special Forces man on the team.

"Good, now move on. I have a lot of preparations to do, excuse me." said the Colonel moving on.

The Sergeant led us down to the assembly area, where we were greeted by rag tag squads from various outfits in the military, though many were marines, there were groups of rangers and even downed pilots fighting as infantrymen. We moved along in a single file till we found an emptier spot and we took a knee so the Sergeant could brief us.

"Right, all of you, listen in-"he was broken off by another figure joining us.

"Well if it isn't Private Limey. How have you been boy? Don't answer that, I was asking out of common curtsy." he said it all very quickly, before turning to the Sergeant, "I am Staff Sergeant Hecklestein, you can keep command of the squad Sergeant. I am simply tagging along."

The Sergeant then carried on with what he had been saying. As he was explaining what he wanted to happen another squad arrived, but this one looked different. I watched as the black Sergeant approached the Colonel, then called back, "Ramirez, get over here!"

I looked back into the circle, but the two Sergeants were already leading everyone over to the barricade. We all peeped over it to get a quick look at our target and were greeted with a hail of machine gun fire coming from various entrenched positions; on the lawn; around the main entrance; from the roof. They were everywhere.

"This is going to be suicide!" shouted a young Private over the noise of the machine guns.

"We haven't got a choice, you will follow orders!" shouted Staff Sergeant Hecklestein in response; the other Sergeant, Sergeant Peters, took a second look over the barricade.

We never heard the sniper shot; the first we knew of it was when Sergeant Peters' head had been snapped back. A red misty spray covered those standing closest to him, me included. We were covered in his blood.

The Sergeant's body fell back almost gracefully, his arms had been thrown out wide as if to grab hold of comfort and so his rifle clattered over the barricade onto the wrong side. His body dropped backwards in slow motion, every minute detail available for me to go over in my mind. He had not shaved this morning, nor the morning before that, he probably never had time. I noticed a marriage ring on his ring finger and wondered whether anyone would miss him, or if fate or God had cruelly snatched them away too. His hair was starting to grey on the temple that I could see, but he had been in the prime of his life. Now he was gone. He came to rest in the dirt on his back after a soft thump. The expression on his face, one of bewilderment.

"Looks like I will be taking this squad into combat after all." said Staff, without a single shred of emotion in his voice, after watching a good man die needlessly. I was fuming inside and he knew it, he wanted to provoke me, even now. The man was unbelievable.

The whistle went out. The assault had begun.

We were being led by a madman.


	9. A Mad Dash

The whistling died suddenly as the Captain blowing it was shot through the throat.

No one had moved. No one wanted to be the first.

"Well what are you waiting for? Move it! Move it!" shouted the Staff Sergeant, he may be a bastard, but he was a fiercer patriot.

Stunned Officers suddenly jumped to life at his harsh words and shouted for everyone else to move forwards. We all scrambled up and over the barricade into a hail of machine gun fire. Men I had only briefly met were torn to shreds, cries came from all sides, we seemed to be advancing into metal, there was no way through; we hit the ground after twenty metres and found what cover we could. I looked cautiously around, I seemed to be lying in a carpet of bodies, men were strewn everywhere, many were still alive and simply badly wounded, but no help would come. I would have been sick at this point, but I was used to this and the adrenaline had started pumping through me, I was immune to such images.

"There's no way through!" came the terrified shouts.

"There's always a way through! Get up and keep moving before they pin us down and lob over something heavier!"

No one moved. Not even at the Sergeant's stern warning could shift the majority of men and Officers. They were more concerned with the immediate threat to their lives.

To my left a number of figures darted among the shots whizzing their way and took turns returning fire, then continued to move up. One of them fell, but the others continued onwards and before long had made it close to one of the White House's side entrances. It was Sergeant Foley's squad.

"Ramirez! Hurry up!" I could hear him call, before the gunfire blocked out all other sounds again.

"We will not be shown up by those Rangers!" yelled the Sergeant. "Get moving! And hurry the fuck up about it!" He stood up to move forwards and urge others to do so when he was hit. He did not fall, he just stood there and took a second hit. We all watched with gaping mouths as he started to run forwards avoiding being hit by anything else. He got to within five metres of the safety of the White House when he was hit in the leg by a sniper's shot. Even then, he carried on crawling forwards. He paused suddenly and we assumed he had finally succumbed to his wounds. The Russians must have thought the same, because the firing from their side had died down as well, everything was deathly quiet.

The seconds ticked past like hours, but then the Staff Sergeant rolled over onto his back, the Russians did not know what to make of it and so did not fire; it was their first mistake. The Sergeant reached into his pockets and pulled out a M67 grenade in each hand. He flicked out the pins and, after having held the grenades for a few seconds to ensure they would not be thrown back, he threw them both expertly into the heart of the Russian positions. The Russians had no time to react and as a result, those caught in the blast were torn to pieces. Those who had jumped out of their positions to escape the blast were cut down by our fire.

The importance of what had just happened sunk in, Staff Sergeant Hecklestein had fallen. The man was finally dead. I was free.

When the noise died down again, my new Sergeant stood up, before shouting to his left and right, "That man did not die in vain! For Staff!" The cry "For Staff!" was taken up by everyone as we all surged forwards, bayonets had been fixed and any Russians with sense fled before us. Those we caught were given no quarter and even I found myself caught up in the moment, except in my mind it was "For Patricia".

I jumped over one of the numerous sandbag walls and landed on top of a Russian, my momentum knocked both of us over, but he managed to get back up first. He had lost his weapon so picked up the first thing to hand, a shovel. We squared each other up and as he was a lot bulkier than me, he took a chance and went to strike first.

Time seemed to slow as he aimed to land his blow on my helmet, the shock of which would have cracked my skull and killed me instantly. As he raised his arms to bear them down on me, he exposed his ribs. This was my only chance. I pulled back my arms to give myself more swinging space, before swinging my rifle, bayonet on point, into the man's ribs.

A shocked expression came over his face and froze there, I struggled to pull my rifle back out of him as he collapsed into a heap at my feet. I felt a shove in my back, before someone yelled in my ear.

"Keep moving, we have to take the Whiskey Hotel, don't just stand there and admire the view!"

It was the angry female Corporal, she seemed to have it in for me. I turned to take a look at the view, but quickly turned back again and trotted inside after everyone else.

Washington was in flames; the White House lawn was strewn with American servicemen and the battle was still hanging precariously in the balance.

I ran in through the shattered glass door, wondering what untold horrors still lay ahead.


End file.
